


Wishful Thinking

by Amikotsu



Series: HashiMada Files [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Boys In Love, Cute, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Festivals, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Stargazing, Tanabata, Uchiha Madara-centric, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikotsu/pseuds/Amikotsu
Summary: "Aren't you going to make a wish?""All of my wishes have come true. Don't you want to make a wish?""It's childish, so no.""Come on! At least one wish. You must have one wish."For the night to never end. Tanabata will always hold a special place in their hearts.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: HashiMada Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743331
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> HashiMada Happenings  
> Uchiha Clan | Senju Clan

The August heat baked the earth, promising a heat that would linger into autumn, possibly into winter. The sun was low, almost dipping below the horizon, but the night would remain warm and humid. Even with the heat, villagers gathered in the streets for Tanabata. Shinobi and civilians littered the streets, celebrating the festival dedicated to the joining of two lovers, the meeting of two stars. Madara hadn't celebrated in years -- he never found the time -- but because his clan members embraced the tradition, he had to embrace the tradition; as clan head, he had to represent his clan, and that meant dressing in a yukata and mingling with people outside of his clan. It was hot and humid, and he wanted nothing to do with the festival. He didn't care about wishes scribbled on colorful paper; he didn't care about origami, or the beautiful artwork comprised of origami. He'd wanted to sit on the engawa and fan himself. Instead, he dutifully made his way through the streets, his unhappy expression deterring others from speaking to him. 

The moment he spotted Tobirama in the crowd, white hair like a beacon amongst a sea of brown and black, Madara turned on his heels and walked in the opposite direction. He wanted nothing to do with the man, had no interest in conversation, or even sharing the same space with the man. He might have gotten away if a hand didn't clamp down on his shoulder. Hashirama came up behind him, wrapped both arms around him, and lifted him off the ground in a large bear hug. His clansmen looked at him, clearly bewildered, while some stifled laughter at the sight of the grown man squeezing the life out of him. Madara hissed the man's name and elbowed him in the chest and Hashirama dropped him on his feet, where he struggled to regain his balance. Hashirama smiled at him and he averted his eyes, irritation conveyed with an angry huff. He went to run a hand through his hair, but he remembered that he'd pulled it back; his long hair had made the hot day even more unbearable, so he'd pulled it back to allow air to reach the nape of his neck. Hashirama looked at his hair in awe and he crossed his arms over his chest, index finger tapping his arm. Hashirama had also pulled his hair back. 

"You look nice tonight."

"I know."

"It's a celebration. Smile!" 

Hashirama grinned, tugging the man in for another hug. Madara flailed his arms and shoved Hashirama away from him, then he straightened his dark blue yukata. Hashirama wore tan, of course, but a lighter shade, and he looked nice as well, but Madara just didn't compliment others. He held his tongue. Madara didn't put up a fight when Hashirama linked arms with him, not when he saw Tobirama glaring at him from the other side of the large crowd. If Hashirama saw Madara smirking at Tobirama, the man didn't say anything. Madara took every opportunity to irritate Tobirama, especially when he knew he could get away with it.

Madara listened to Hashirama talk about the work that went into the festival, as if he'd excluded Madara from aiding in the process. Hashirama had sought his approval, had even asked him to make sure he personally invited every member of his clan. That had taken far too long, but their smiling faces made him proud. Right then, he saw a bright future for Konohagakure. At the first signs of darkness, children lit sparklers and ran for one of the rivers winding through the village, where people released small wooden branches adorned with ornaments into the water. The celebration was nice, to say the least, but Madara still would have preferred a quiet night at home. Hashirama loved celebrations, not him. They were crowded and loud and entirely unnecessary. And then he saw the joy written all over his friend's face, and he couldn't help but think it was worth it to attend, if only to see the spark in the man's eyes. Sometimes he really hated Hashirama. The man captured him without even trying. 

"Are you hungry? Let's get something to eat," Hashirama suggested, quickly dragging Madara through the crowds. 

Madara had to admit he was starving, as he hadn't planned on spending hours at the festival, lost in the crowded streets. He sighed at the way Hashirama manhandled him, dragging him along as if they were still small children rather than grown men. He had to admit he didn't mind it; if anyone else tried to do the same, he would end them without hesitation. But people already knew that there was something special about Hashirama, something that brought out the best in people, something unique that Madara didn't understand, something he'd learned to love, if he could be so honest with himself. Hashirama talked about how long preparations had taken and how many restaurants participated in the celebration. Madara had done very little, in comparison, and he wondered if it had something to do with his restlessness. They finally had peace, yet he craved war. 

"Here we are," Hashirama declared, stopping suddenly. Madara bumped into him and he laughed, dark eyes alive with mirth. Madara looked at the nameless food stall and sniffed the air. "One order of inarizushi and one kabayaki!"

Madara stared at his friend, mouth opening and closing twice before he thought to speak. "How did you know I like inarizushi?" 

The man never answered. Hashirama watched the woman prepare their food, eyes never straying from the preparation, and maybe he should have been watching too, just to be sure they weren't being poisoned. With one skewer of eel and one disposable bowl with four inarizushi, they made their way to the river to watch the children play with sparklers. Madara turned to grab chopsticks, but Hashirama offered him a pair. It seemed that the man had thought of everything. On the walk to the river, Hashirama was unusually quiet, and Madara wondered if the food had been poisoned. Instead, he saw Hashirama looking up at the clear night sky, all of the stars on display. It was still hot and humid, but the view was enchanting. Madara finished his food and took their trash to drop it into a bin they passed. Maybe he should have said something, but he didn't. He was content in the silence, even if some part of him missed the constant conversation.

"Say something," Madara finally broke, eyes on Hashirama's profile. They walked side by side, their arms no longer linked. "It's too quiet. You're constantly talking. It makes me think something is wrong. That's it, isn't it?"

"Now isn't the time." Cryptic, but a response. Hashirama looked over at him and he met the man's eyes, having absolutely nothing to hide. "You really do look nice tonight," Hashirama repeated, offering a small smile. "I prefer your hair down."

"It's too hot," Madara complained, comfortable with complaining. After all, he liked complaining, if only because Hashirama reassured him of things and lifted his spirits, whether he admitted it or not. "I prefer your hair down as well. It's odd seeing it up. Maybe you want to go back to the awful bowl cut you had in our childhood."

"Please don't remind me," Hashirama pouted. Madara cracked his first smile of the evening and it lifted Hashirama's spirits. "Are you enjoying yourself now?"

"It's tolerable," Madara lied. Hashirama saw right through him, and he smiled again, small and fragile, but still a smile. He liked to think he saved them just for Hashirama. "Aren't you going to make a wish?"

"All of my wishes have come true. Don't you want to make a wish?"

"It's childish, so no."

"Come on! At least one wish. You must have one wish."

For the night to never end. 

Hashirama procured a slip of blue paper and a brush and ink, then he offered the supplies to Madara. Frowning, Madara turned his back to Hashirama and began to write his wish on the slip of paper. When he caught Hashirama peeking, he poked the man on the nose with the brush, smearing ink across the man's skin. As Hashirama whined, Madara finished writing his wish and tied the paper to a tree. He passed off the supplies to a small child seeking a brush and ink. Hashirama looked ridiculous with the splotch of black on his nose, so Madara finished wiping it off. They stood together, staring into one another's eyes, until an alarm sounded in the village. Both men jumped to attention and ran off in search of higher ranking clan members. Madara had the feeling that so many words had gone unsaid, but they were shinobi, and duty called. Still, Madara thought that Hashirama had looked wonderful against the background of colorful lights, a starry sky overhead. In the end, his wish never came true.


End file.
